Examination day
by OzGeek
Summary: The day of Jimmy's last ever exam does not turn out the way he planned. Written for the NFA "The name's Palmer, Jimmy Palmer" challenge see my profile page . Spoilers for Broken Bird S6 and beyond. Complete.
1. Examination Day

**Examination Day**

Jimmy strode into his bedroom and tossed his examination notes high into the air. As he had done many times before, he watched as they fluttered gently to the floor to join their fallen comrades, similarly released over the past few weeks. His entire room looked like the aftermath of a massive, coarse-grained ticker tape parade. Nothing could describe the sense of relief washing over him. After uncountably many years of balancing study and an almost full time job, it was finally over. His last exam had concluded and, barring calamity, he had just passed and become a medical examiner.

'Over, over, over, over, over': it played round and round in his head. No more struggling to read spider-scrawled shorthand at 2 am in a desperate attempt to answer a diabolical imminent assignment question. No more racing from crime scenes to college then trying to concentrate on some esoteric theoretical lecture while scenes of carnage danced in his head. No more urgent phone calls on his precious days off commanding him to abandon his animated friends for a bunch of not-quite-so animated strangers. No more… no more anything.

He sat heavily on the bed as it finally hit him: it really was over. More importantly, it was a beginning. The beginning of what was a moot point but there was a clean slate before him. His position as NCIS assistant medical examiner was strictly a student posting and, although Ducky had mentioned they might be able to offer him a job, he knew economic times were tough and there were no guarantees. Of course Ducky was getting on in years so it wouldn't be long before he di…Jimmy stopped himself: that was just downright mean. He didn't exactly expect Ducky to die, he could just move on to a better place….

Oh who was he kidding? He worked in an occupation reliant on a steady stream of timely corpses; it was only natural that his first thoughts of promotion involved Ducky's untimely demise. Ducky was lucky that Jimmy was only entertaining thoughts of him dying through natural causes and not murdered in some bizarre way by a crazed medical examiner serial killer. Oh wait - a serial killer who murdered medical examiners: that might not be too good for his own career.

Fortunately for all concerned, Jimmy's cell phone went off.

"Hello?"

"Ah yes, Mr Palmer," Ducky began. "I'm sorry to disturb you so soon after your final exam. I hope you weren't out celebrating."

"No, no, not yet. We're …"

"Oh good," Ducky cut in. "I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a bind and I need to impose on you for a favor."

"Anything, Dr Mallard."

"We've had a rather…enthusiastic killer and the body count is a little higher than I can manage on my own. I was wondering if you could spare just an hour or two, just to help me get over the bulk of it."

A smile played over Jimmy's lips: once more for old time's sake. "Sure, I'll be right there."

* * *

The evening autopsy corridor looked eerily familiar in a visiting-his-childhood-school kind of way. It was hard to believe that only a few days ago he was walking around here as though he belonged. There was no way of knowing when he would next see this place; he might as well appreciate his last moments.

Jimmy stood outside the autopsy doors: the final barrier. Inside, Ducky must be knee deep in bodies and frantically awaiting his arrival. It was time to burst in like a superhero and save the day – well except that almost everyone was already dead. He took a deep breath, fixed a professional expression on his face and readied himself for business.

But nothing could have prepared him for what awaited inside those doors.


	2. The unexpected

**Chapter 2**

"Surprise!"

A shock ripped through Jimmy's body like a lightning bolt and it was a full minute before he could even begin to comprehend the scene before him.

There must have been fifty people crowded between the autopsy tables, all wearing 60's inspired cone shaped cardboard party hats and blowing paper horns. The sound filled the room like a peak hour traffic jam.

The faces covered a diverse cross section of his many years in NCIS from the janitor to the local hospital staff he and Ducky routinely contacted.

The table closest to the autopsy drawers was covered in a white table cloth and hung heavy with bizarre-looking party food. He guessed Abby had been in charge of catering. There was a huge body-shaped cake complete with embedded knife, coffin shaped nibbly 'things' of some kind and some white mystery food that had been arranged in the shape of a skeleton.

Abby bounded over to Jimmy excitedly and caught him in a vice like hug. "Congratulations, Dr Palmer", she yelled in his ear in a valiant attempt to be heard over the din.

"Well technically, I'm not a doctor until…"

"Did you see all the decorations we put up?" Abby cut in.

"Yeah, I…" Jimmy surveyed the decorations. The morgue was strung with multi-hued streamers interspersed with silver helium balloons with "Congratulations!" and "Well Done!" printed on them. A colored balloon graced each autopsy draw.

"Come on," Abby took him by the arm and dragged him across the room towards the food. "Ducky arranged all this, we have to go and thank him."

As he grew closer to the autopsy drawers where Ducky stood, looking awkward in his conservative suit and pink swirled party hat, Jimmy realized that strung across the back of the wall was a large banner which read "Welcome to your new home".

"Home?" he queried.

"Isn't it great?" Abby yelled as she drew him to a halt at Ducky's side. "Tell him, Ducky".

"Home?" Jimmy repeated pointedly to Ducky.

"Yes," called Ducky over the noise. "I've talked it over with the Director and he agrees. This place is certainly busy enough for two M.E.s, especially if one is part-time."

Jimmy's heart sank but he tried not to look ungrateful: a job was a job. "Part-time?"

"Oh don't misunderstand," said Ducky at once. "I'm converting to part-time, not you."

Jimmy's heart did a back flip then sunk again – maybe Ducky had contracted some fatal disease. Guilt stabbed him a few times in the stomach just to drive the point home.

"Yes," Ducky continued, "I'm getting to the age where I'm starting to contemplate my next career. I've been offered a part-time lecturing position in forensic psychology and it seemed like the perfect opportunity to explore another facet of the science. The paperwork has been a little tardy, as it always is, and complicated by your new fangled combination ME and MD course. In my day, you had to complete an MD before you could do your residency. I estimate you should be receiving an offer in the mail in a month or so. That should give you plenty of time to rest and recuperate."

"That sounds…"

"You know, I considered lecturing in my youth but now I have a wealth of experience to pass on to the younger generation. I only have one reservation."

"What's that Dr Mallard?"

"I'm not convinced I can give those long rambling lectures. You know, the ones peppered with anecdotes from ones career."

Jimmy smiled. "I'm sure you'll do fine Dr Mallard."

"As will you, my boy."

"Why thank you, Dr…"

"You!" a ferocious cry went up.

The room plunged into deathly silence.

Everything happened so fast. No sooner had Jimmy noticed the presence of the wild-eyed man with the gun than he was lying on his back with his head smashed against one of the autopsy drawers with screams and yells reverberating around him. His head throbbed, his teeth rang but the dominant sensation was a great weight on his chest rendering breathing almost impossible. The great weight rolled off to one side and he found himself gulping fresh air. His head spun wildly.

"Palmer, are you hit?" Disoriented, Jimmy swung his head towards the sound but missed.

A hand grabbed his chin and guided it so that he looked straight into Tony's eyes."Jimmy: are you shot," Tony repeated, concern etched across his face.

Fear caught his thoughts – shot? Why would he be shot? The frantic look in Tony's eyes only made it worse.

In the distance he could hear snatches other people's words.

There was Abby's panicked cries of : "Oh my God, Oh my God" repeating over and over.

Then McGee's: "Ambulance is on its way."

And Ziva's: "Lost him, security has been alerted."

But the words that chilled him to the bone were the ones from Gibbs' voice threatening. "Don't you die on me, old man."

* * *

Thanks to mums5thchild for the prompting about the ME education stream. From what I could find out, Jimmy should not even be assisting Ducky without his MD but we know he is still in medical school (Shalom and Broken Bird spring to mind).

Oh and thanks to JKM for the correction on the last chapter.


	3. Perceptions

**Chapter 3**

Tad McClane was loving his first day as a paramedic although the cases so far hadn't exactly resembled his training scenarios. Where were all the scenes of massive carnage? As he understood it, he and his trustworthy partner were supposed to arrive at a bloodbath, save everyone and transport them all to hospital. There was rather a lot of that in training. In the real world, his day had so far consisted of two drug overdoses, a drunk and an old lady who was bleeding profusely from a cut on her leg, sustained when another old lady inadvertently hit her with a walker. Even the blood looked different to the tomato sauce blood he was used to.

Now they were headed to a morgue to attend his first ever shooting. He had questioned his partner twice on the matter:"_To_ a morgue?"

"Yep."

In all his childhood paramedic dreams, Tad never envisaged a morgue. Still he trusted his boss implicitly and if his boss said they were scheduled to make a withdrawal rather than a deposit, then so be it. In the short time they'd been together, he'd already learnt that his boss, Ned Faden, was completely unfazed by everything.

"Ever been to a morgue before?" Ned asked as they pushed the strectcher into the elevator.

"Ah no," Tad admitted. "I sort of thought morgues were the end of the line."

His boss snorted gently. "Ordinarily, yes, but people get injured everywhere."

"How many times does someone get shot in a morgue?"

"In this particular morgue – at least three times that I know of."

"What?"

"We see lots of shootings in this business," his boss started.

"We what?" That most certainly was not in the manual.

"It pays to keep your gun around your ankle, though. They can grab it out of your waistband really easily. Where do you have yours right now?"

"Nowhere: I don't have one."

"Well get one and get trained. You're going to meet some strange people on this job."

"How strange?"

The elevator came to a halt. "Look," said Ned with sudden seriousness. "This is Ducky Mallard's morgue. He's one of the best in the business but he does like to personalize his charges."

"Personalize them?"

"He...ah treats the corpses like they are still alive, talks to them: that sort of thing."

"Oh ahh." His first shooting and his first crazy person at the same time!

"He's harmless and pretty good at his job. Just don't be surprised by whatever you see or hear when you're in the morgue. It's just Ducky's way of treating the dead with respect." The elevator door slid open. "Let's go."

Tad steeled himself as they entered autopsy, determined to concentrate on only the injured party and not be distracted by crazy M.E.s who converse with the dead. Realistically, how bad could it be? The dead were the dead; it's not as it you'd throw them a par …both men froze in their tracks.

Balloons and streamers filled the air and the room was crammed with people dressed in party hats and holding noise markers. Bizarre death related party food lay across one of the gurneys including a huge body-shaped cake complete with protruding knife but the thing that really stunned Tad were the banners proclaiming "Congratulations", "Well Done" and "Welcome to your new home". This Ducky guy was certifiable and the rest of the staff must be a little off as well.

An ancient fossil of a man, clearly the corpse, lay on one of the examination tables dressed in a conservative suit and wearing a pink party hat. An old guy with grey hair, presumably the famous Ducky, was talking to the corpse, as expected, while a woman dressed in Gothic clothing strode around chanting something. This was weirder than he could possibly have imagined.

"This Ducky needs help," he whispered.

His comments seemed to jerk his partner into action. "Ducky's the one on the table," he snapped, hastily making for the 'body'. "Go check on the young guy in front of the autopsy drawers."

Tad stared at the scene a moment longer trying to make sense of it all. If Ducky was one on the table then… it all started to re-arrange itself before his eyes: the grey-haired guy was not Ducky. In fact he was commanding Ducky to live and holding a pressure bandage to his chest. The Goth was in clearly in shock and … what did his boss say? A patient?

Quickly, Tad made his way to the unusually festive autopsy drawers where a young bespectacled man was lying cradled in another man's arms. The patient was awake, albeit bleary eyed, which was always a good first sign.

The support guy looked up. "Hit his head against the autopsy drawers, no bullet wounds" he said succinctly.

Tad crouched beside the injured young man, placed his hand around the back of his head and lifted it. As expected he found a large egg-shaped lump. The hair was slightly damp and red with blood but not enough to indicate serious blood loss – on the outside at least. A trip to the hospital, a scan and some observation would probably do the trick – concussion 101. Gently he lowered the man's head and looked into his eyes. They were already clearer, pupils the same size: that was promising.

He started with the standard, "have you broken your brain" questions: "Do you know your name?"

"Jimmy - is Dr Mallard OK?"

"My boss is working on him. Do you know what day it is?"

"The day of my final exam. Is he OK?"

"I don't know, I'm dealing with you. Do you know where you are?"

"Autopsy. But, is he breathing? What happened to the guy with the gun?"

"He's gone. Do you know the name of current president?"

"Gone? Ducky's gone? Dead?" Jimmy attempted to sit but Tad restrained him.

"No, no, no," Tad comforted. "The guy who shot Ducky has gone – disappeared. Ducky is receiving treatment. Now, do you know the current President?"

Jimmy looked at him suddenly with a puzzled expression on his face. "No," he said. "I'm just an autopsy assistant – why would I know the President?"

Tad saw a smirk on the lips of the man supporting his patient. "He's OK," he said. "Congratulations, you've just been Palmered."

Tad straightened. The patient was obviously fine for now but he still thought the hospital visit was warranted.

"I'm OK, I'm a doctor, sort of, well soon. If I get any symptoms I'll go straight to the hospital: promise," Jimmy insisted. "Go help with Ducky."

Tad looked towards his boss and saw he was ready to move Ducky onto the stretcher. He could probably do with some assistance. Giving Jimmy a final glance, he went to help his partner, hoping that leaving his patient was, in fact, the right thing to do.


	4. Misconceptions

**Warning - **_Slight spoilers for the season 6 episode Broken Bird and beyond._

* * *

**Chapter 4**

"I need to do the autopsy," Jimmy fretted to no one in particular.

"Don't touch the body, Palmer," Tony warned, not looking up from his desk. "You officially don't work here anymore."

Jimmy sighed dejectedly and threw himself back in his chair: actually Gibbs' chair. He was sitting at Gibbs' desk placating his growing frustration by fiddling with pens, papers, erasers and anything else he could get his hands on. It was well past 10 pm and the main lights had long turned off casting a gloomy ambience over the room. Tony and Ziva were at their desks, illuminated only by the cone-shaped lights thrown from their desk lamps, doing whatever it is special agents do when one of their own is injured. The light cones looked like something out of a science fiction and Jimmy kept expecting them to teleport away somewhere. It would fit with the reality of the rest of the night.

McGee, on the other hand was standing perfectly still in front of the plasma screen watching the autopsy video of the night's events on an endless loop. Jimmy had seen it only once and that was one time too many. For a start it was strange to see yourself doing something you have no memory of, and secondly it was just horrifying to see Ducky so full of life one moment and so lifeless the next. It made him want to shout, 'look out'. It wasn't just a gentle drop to the floor, either: Ducky was literally blown his feet, thrusting both him and Jimmy against the autopsy drawers. No wonder he still had a headache.

There was nothing on the video to indicate why someone would waltz into autopsy and shoot Ducky. Then again there had been no discernable reason why someone would stab Ducky in the middle of the street or slice his friends into small pieces, place them in barrels and leave them around for him to find. If there was one thing Jimmy had learned from this job it was that motives were rarely immediately obvious. Of course it never helped that Ducky had such a checkered past that he was obsessively secretive about – something shared by almost everyone in the top levels of NCIS. Heck, it was practically a pre-requisite for promotion.

Abby was off somewhere running facial recognition software on the surveillance video and eating her way through the remainder of the buffet. Jimmy had forced most of the guests to take a plate home with them just to clear off the room but Abby had gone around garnering supplies from everyone to see her through the night.

"What about calling in Jordon to do the autopsy?" Jimmy suggested futilely.

"For a start," said McGee distractedly, "it's after 10 pm."

"..and secondly," said Gibbs appearing from nowhere. "She's with Ducky."

Jimmy shot up from the chair. "How is Dr Mallard?"

"Just dandy, Palmer," said Gibbs sarcastically, "except for the bullet wound." Gibbs came to a sudden halt in front of his own desk and for a moment Jimmy saw something resembling regret on Gibbs' face. Gibbs' expression softened. "It's too early to tell. We have a 24 hour protection guard on him in, just in case."

Jimmy saw Gibbs' eyes scan the top of the desk and looked down noticing, for the first time, the mess he had created. "Oh, I'm sorry sir I'll clean it up…"

"Go home, Jimmy," said Gibbs simply, ignoring the wreckage.

"I can't."

"There is nothing you can do now." Gibbs turned to the others. "All of you – go home. Tell Abby, go home and get some sleep. We'll need all the energy we can get when the evidence starts rolling in."

The three junior agents began packing up for the night. Jimmy noticed that Gibbs did not emulate them. Instead he hustled Jimmy out of his personal space and sat down at the desk.

"You're not going, Boss?" Tony questioned.

"I have a call to make," said Gibbs, by way of response.

Something inside Jimmy snapped. If there was one thing he was sick of it was old the NCIS guard keeping everyone else out of the loop. Gibbs clearly knew something about the case he was not telling them and was now sending them all home while he conducted his own investigation. As he fumed, Gibbs appeared to shrink before his eyes until he was nothing more than a sneaky little old man trying to keep the glory, or the pain, away from his loyal group.

"No!" said Jimmy suddenly.

Four pairs of eyes fixed themselves on him.

"No," he repeated. "I'm sick of you old guys keeping things from the rest of us. Are we a team or not? If you need to make a call about Ducky and the case then you should tell us all, not just slink away and put yourself in danger and then we all have to get together and work out what's going on and come and save your sorry butt. I'm sick of it. You do it, Dr Mallard does it, Director Shepard and Director Vance did it. For once in your life just trust your own team."

The silence hung heavy in the room.

Now, as Jimmy stood panting with the blood pulsing in his ears, Gibbs began to grow before his eyes. He grew way beyond his original size until he looked like a giant angry grizzly bear looming over him: a grizzly that Jimmy had just been poking with a very large stick.

Gibbs opened his mouth and Jimmy steeled himself for the dressing down of his life. When he spoke, however, Gibbs' voice was quiet, restrained and slightly bemused. "I'm ringing my father for his birthday," he said. "Is that OK with you and the rest of the team?"

Jimmy felt his ears burn with embarrassment. "Ah sure…ah sorry sir. Wish him happy birthday from me."

"Get some sleep, Palmer," said Gibbs again. "All of you. There will be lots to do in the morning."

Jimmy turned to go.

"And Palmer…"

Jimmy cringed in anticipation and turned to face Gibbs.

"Old man?" he said, wryly.

Palmer felt Tony's arm across his shoulders. "Come on Palmer, that head bump is going to get you killed. I'll take you home."


	5. A change of focus

**Chapter 5**

"Jimmy," Abby greeted him like a long lost cousin catching him in a suffocating embrace. When she released him, there was a split second of silence while her brain changed gears. "Oh my God, I can't believe someone did this to Ducky!" she began anew. "I've been here all night. Well I spent some of the night on my futon because, you know, there is only so much you can actually do when no one is giving you autopsy results and the computer is just randomly scanning faces and the food can only keep you going for so long even if you have to start doing cartwheels across the room to burn off all the calories you're absorbing just trying to stay awake and I can't believe this is happening all over again."

"I thought you said you weren't going to do this again because you'd go crazy."

"Well, I've had all my mail forwarded to Crazy Town just while Ducky's in hospital. After he's better, I swear I'm moving straight out again. It's a short lease – more like respite. Oh he is going to be OK, isn't he?"

No one had told Jimmy anything. "I'm sure he'll be fine."

Jimmy took a moment to survey Abby's lab. Every monitor had a picture of Ducky. "Have you finished the search?"

"Nope."

"Then why can't I see it?"

"Oh," Abby dismissed him lightly. "You don't actually need to see all the faces going by when you search. In fact, it slows up the whole process by a factor of a thousand."

"So why do you do it?"

"I don't."

"But I've seen…."

"I have a loop of face pictures that I just run in the background. If I don't do that, people don't believe I'm doing any work. When I find a match, I just pop up the final image. Otherwise these searches would take weeks."

"Ohhhh."

On cue, Abby's computer beeped and a pair of matched faces appeared on the screen. "Well, we've got our man: Jonathan Jones. Hmm, you have to wonder about people with common names like that. I mean, is that even believable? It's like someone is trying to invent names on the fly and just picked a really stupid one."

"Ahh, Abby, shouldn't we tell someone."

Abby looked around. "I suppose so. Gibbs is usually standing here by now. You must be putting out Gibbs-blockers or something."

* * *

"Jonathan Jones?" McGee questioned when Abby and Jimmy informed the team of their findings up in the squad room. "Really?"

"Really, really," Abby confirmed.

"Who is he, Abs?" Gibbs asked, staring intently at the face of Jonathan Jones looming on the plasma screen.

"Contractor: electrician," said Abby. "That's why it took so long to match him. He wasn't on the defense listing."

"He works here?"

"He's done work here," Abby clarified. "Last job was a week ago."

"McGee," Gibbs commanded, "surveillance camera for the hall outside autopsy."

"Ahh, right boss," McGee flustered, caught off guard.

"Today," Gibbs growled impatiently.

"I'm trying, it's not that, ahh."

The image on the screen changed to an empty corridor. The very same corridor Jimmy thought he'd never see again. Then a man appeared at the top of the screen. He stopped momentarily and pulled a telescopic stick from his jacket. They watched as he prodded upwards out of the screen. When he was satisfied, he stowed the device, pulled a gun from under his jacket and walked briskly into autopsy. Moments later he was out again and they stared in disbelief as he jumped at the ceiling, curled his legs up and promptly disappeared. Ziva appeared a few seconds later and ran down the corridor.

"He hid in the damn ceiling access point," Gibbs swore.

"Sorry, Gibbs," Ziva began, "I should have checked."

"We all should have checked," Gibbs growled. "Trace his cell, McGee."

"Still in the corridor, Boss – or the corridor ceiling."

"McGee: BOLO"

"If I'd come up with a character name like that, my publisher would send me back for a re-write," McGee grumbled as he hastily typed up the BOLO.

"Well fortunately we aren't bound to your publisher, Mr Gemcity," Tony pointed out. "So Jonathan Jones it is."

"Abby: address." Gibbs stuck out his hand and Abby planted a yellow piece of paper in his palm.

The team rose from their desks and collected their equipment.

"You know, it's funny," Jimmy mused to Abby as the team headed for the elevator, "because ..."

Gibbs stopped and turned his attention to Jimmy. "What's funny, Palmer?"

"What?" Jimmy started. "Oh it's funny that there was a Jones family for the case I did for my forensic practical."

"You what?"

"I had to do solo case, with supervision of course, all the way from body to giving evidence in a court appearance. It counts towards my final marks."

"Was Ducky in court with you?" probed Gibbs, suddenly interested.

"Ah yes, he had to be. He was my qualified ME….why?"

The team withdrew from the elevators and swarmed back to their desks, shedding backpacks as they went.

"McGee," Gibbs barked, "run that autopsy footage again."

While Gibbs, Tony and Ziva crowded around McGee to view the replay yet again, Jimmy eased himself onto the edge of a desk away from the video. He was having one of those light-headed moments with the creepy sweaty sensation that he was sure the paramedic guy would have fretted about. Besides, he really didn't enjoy watching his mentor being gunned down repeatedly.

"There!" said Gibbs.

"There?" queried Tony.

"Look at Ducky's eyes before he moves."

The four agents stared at the screen as McGee ran the footage in frame by frame slow motion.

"He recognized the shooter," said Ziva.

"Boss," Tony ventured. "Is he doing what I think he's doing?"

Gibbs nodded grimly. "Yep."

McGee looked from face to face. "What am I missing?"

"Ducky recognized the shooter and deliberately placed himself between him and Jimmy," said Gibbs.

McGee looked puzzzled. "But that means…"

"Jimmy was the target," Gibbs confirmed.

Jimmy's light-headed sensation blew up into an all out nauseating dizzy spell and he grasped the edge of the desk just to stay upright. "Me?"

"McGee," Gibbs started.

"Checking on the case right now, Boss."

"Ziva."

"Checking with the guard on duty," called Ziva from her desk.

"Got it," called McGee, moments later.

"The case you gave evidence for was Kenneth Jones but his brother was..." McGee pulled up a familiar face on the plasma, "Jonathan Jones."

Ziva planted the hand piece back onto her phone. "Guard was no help. He said there were lots of new faces arriving for Jimmy's party, including contractors."

"Where is Kenneth Jones," asked Gibbs, steadily.

McGee searched again. "Ahh in jail, wait, no, he was brought into hospital two days ago – suicide."

"In our morgue?"

"No, he was a civilian. He killed a Navy officer which is why he was part of Jimmy's case, but a civilian suicide is still civilian. And guess who identified his brother's body…"

"His brother," Tony guessed.

"And guess where Ducky was two days ago?" Gibbs muttered through gritted teeth to no one in particular. He did not wait for an answer, "at the same hospital inviting people to Palmer's party. Grab your gear and go find him. Palmer..."

"Yes," Palmer fought back the rising bile in his throat. This was just too much too soon.

"We're staying here. You stick to me like glue and tonight: I'm your body guard."

"Oh no." The words fell out before he had a chance to censor them.

"You got a problem with that, Palmer?"

Palmer swallowed hard. "Well, it's just that, well you guys have a sort of reputation."

Gibbs tone hardened. "What sort of reputation?"

"Well, when you guarded Ducky, he got kidnapped, when you guys staked out a storage locker, the stuff got stolen, when you looked after that accountant, the bad guys tracked him down."

"So…."

"So, you guys guarding something is like an open invitation to killers."

"Palmer," said Gibbs seriously. "Nothing's going to happen to you."


	6. Down Below

**Chapter 6**

Jimmy fought back the panicked scream rearing in his throat as his life flashed before his eyes for what seemed the 20th time. He had never had never known such terror. Then again he had never been in a car driven by Gibbs and, God willing, he never would again. Suddenly he yearned for those long dawdling journeys with Ducky holding the map upside down and issuing random commands. With Ducky he was always going to arrive fashionably late, with Gibbs, he was going to arrive permanently LATE.

It was a terrifying end to a nightmare day peppered with bouts nausea, dizziness and headaches. Most of the time had been spent sitting in a chair next to Gibbs' desk waiting for the agents to solve the case: which they didn't. Gibbs wouldn't let him visit Ducky in hospital, contact his mother in any way or even go home for a change of clothes. He said Jimmy could wear some of his clothes! Ok, it was true they were about the same height but he hadn't worn Sears since his mother stopped doing his shopping.

On the bright side, he thought as another car swerved to avoid them, at least he wasn't going to inadvertently fall asleep during the trip to Gibbs' house. The last thing he wanted to do was sleep and then wake up in a coma – or not wake up – or whatever it is you do when coma strikes.

Unsurprisingly, the agents had been unable to trace his stalker. They did find his stalker's cell, tucked away in the NCIS ceiling recess as expected but no sign of the man himself: his stalker – HIS stalker. It was a term he could just not get used to. He had spent most of the day worrying about having his own personal psychotic killer – but no longer. Now he had bigger worries. No deranged madman could possibly cause him more fear than being in a car with Gibbs at the wheel.

It was dark when they pulled up outside Gibbs' house.

"That concussion bothering you again, Palmer," asked Gibbs as he climbed casually out of the car and strolled through the acrid cloud of burnt rubber hanging over the driveway. "You're looking a little pale."

"No, I'm fine" Jimmy squeaked unconvincingly.

He could see another NCIS car parked some distance down the road. It was the only evidence that McGee, Tony and Ziva were present somewhere in the dark watching over him. If only they'd been driving Gibbs' car.

* * *

Once inside, Gibbs headed to a wooden staircase that led down to his famous basement. Although excited about finally viewing the hallowed boat building room, Jimmy baulked at the stairs as his vertigo increased. Below, he could see Gibbs staring up impatiently with some sort of wood planning tool in his hand. Caution, he told himself. He would be OK if he just took the stairs one step at a time.

Carefully, he began an unsteady descent, gripping the handrail tightly. Then something caught his eye that made him forget all about the repercussions of smashing his head against an enormous block of metal.

"This is the boat everyone keeps talking about?" he said in disbelief. "The way everyone goes on about it, I thought it was huge. This would be easy to get out of the basement: you could just carry it up the stairs."

He saw Gibbs close his eyes for a moment and give a weary shake of his head. "This is the dingy, Palmer."

"Oh, well that explains a lot then, um. I mean I didn't really see how you could have spent all that time and only ended up with…"

"Get down here, Palmer."

Suddenly, the house plunged into darkness.

"Don't move, Palmer," Gibbs called, a split second before the basement resounded to the sound of a body cascading down the stairs.

Desperately Gibbs clawed around his tools for the flashlight he knew was lying somewhere. He swore as he found a jar of tacks and another of turpentine. Finally, his fingers lit upon the tell tale tubular shape.

"Palmer," he called as he switched on the feeble light.

"Over here," came a groan.

Gibbs swept the wane, yellow light across his path as he walked towards the sound. He cursed himself for not changing the batteries: the beam only penetrated a few feet.

"Oh, yeah," said Jimmy's voice in the darkness. "This leg's broken, argh!."

Gibbs' light finally found a shoe and thence a slightly misshapen leg.

"You don't need a stalker, Palmer," Gibbs grumbled, flicking out his cell. "You're self stalking."

Gibbs called an ambulance then contacted Tony to apprise the agents of the situation.

Jimmy's stomach rolled itself up into a ball and bounced around his ribs. He had never felt so vulnerable. The bounce frequency increased when Gibbs squatted on the steps next to him and pulled out a gun.

"You're not a horse person are you, ah, sir?" he quavered.

"Nope."

"Ahh, aren't you going to check the meter box?"

"Nope."

"So we're just going to sit here in the dark?"

"If there's one thing an electrician knows about, Palmer it's how to turn the lights off."

"You, you really think he's out there?"

"Oh, he's out there."

"And he knows we're here."

"This is the only room without a ceiling space," said Gibbs. "He'll have to come down those stairs and I have them covered."

"What if he's outside?"

"We have backup."

"I still don't feel any better."

"You don't have to."

Jimmy looked at the top of the stairs. He told himself that all the creaking from above was caused by the agents protecting him or the house expanding and contracting and not someone intent on killing him. His only comfort was the sound of Gibbs' breathing and the cold smell of his metallic gun.


	7. Reunions

**Chapter 7**

Tad McClane was getting the hang of this paramedic job: drug OD, drug OD, old person injury, shooting: repeat. He might as well throw out all the rest of his notes. It's a pity because he had been really looking forward to treating his first platypus sting (treat with heat, not cold). Why anyone thought it necessary to include platypus stings in his paramedic course was still a complete mystery to him, but he was mighty keen to show off his knowledge. Right now, his monotreme venom dreams would have to wait: it was time for tonight's shooting.

Ned backed the ambulance into the driveway next to a car that looked like it was straight out of Hazard County. The house appeared deserted but Tad knew this was just an illusion – they had been briefed on the way: witness down, power out, use extreme caution. Tad grabbed a flashlight and a box of medical equipment and climbed out of the van. There was an unusual smell in the air – like something burning.

An eerily illuminated face met him, gun raised. "Agent DiNozzo," it rasped by way of introduction. "We could have a sniper out here." The face scanned the area professionally before continuing. "The patient is in the basement but once you have him, we might need a quick getaway."

Tad went around to the back of the ambulance and hoisted the rear door open. Momentarily he marveled at the interior space of these new vehicles. Some of their training cars had been cramped but this one had a stretcher and an extra side bed. He reached for the stretcher.

"Leave it," his boss instructed. "It's only a leg. We'll be quicker carrying him out once he's splinted."

"Won't that be painful?"

"Not as painful as a gunshot wound to the head."

"Well, technically, that's not so pain…".

Tad deferred to his boss and the two paramedics followed the agent to the front door of the darkened house. Once inside, DiNozzo led them down a set of rickety wooden stairs to where their patient lay, watched over by an older man.

It wasn't until he was face to face with his patient that Tad finally realized the reason for his persistent, nagging de ja vu: these people were all from the autopsy room. It was even the same patient.

"This really isn't your week, is it?" he joked splinting the injured limb.

"You have no idea," the patient grimaced.

"Where are the lights, DiNozzo?" demanded the older man.

"Probie says they've been taken out somewhere further up the line. He's back helping Ziva search the house."

Tad finished his work and waited while his boss did a quick inspection by gloomy light.

"I'll do," was the verdict. "Let's get out of here."

The two paramedics lifted Jimmy and carried him carefully up the stairs in almost complete silence. Their two escort agents lit the way, holding their guns alertly. Against all Tad's expectation, they made it to the ambulance without the slightest hint of danger.

"That was too easy," muttered the old guy.

Just what Tad didn't need: a pessimist.

Working only by dull flashlight, the paramedics eased their patient into the ambulance and strapped him in. Tad climbed in beside him and perched on the bed opposite leaning forward so that he could keep an eye on his charge.

"Let's go," said his boss gruffly.

As the rear door slammed shut, Tad turned his attention to his patient who was taking his ordeal fairly well, all things considered.

"Hi," he started. "I'm Tad. We didn't have a chance to introduce ourselves last time."

"Last time?"

"Autopsy – when you bashed your head."

"Really! I don't remember you but there was a lot going on that night." There was a pause. "Jimmy," he said finally. "Jimmy Palmer."

Ned started the engine up and Tad felt himself finally relax. Whatever was out there was going to stay out there. He'd feel even better when they were out of the driveway and on the road.

Then suddenly there was a gun at his head. At the other end there was a wild-eyed unshaven man.

"No mistakes this time," the man growled, his malevolent stare focused squarely on Jimmy.

Tad did not stop to think. Before he knew it, he had ripped his shiny new gun from his ankle holster and fired: fired where was another matter. All three men ducked as the renegade bullet ricochet around the interior. The ambulance screeched to a halt throwing Tad and the less impetuous gun welding occupant to the floor.

"Everyone OK?"

Tad looked up to see the back door open and four guns trained on them – the original agents were now accompanied by two more.

"I think the paramedic just shot me," Jimmy grunted.

Tad was relieved when two of the agents climbed in and dragged their assailant away. The guy was looking a little shocked – possibly from the gun shot or the fall to the floor – maybe he should just check him over. Tad never got the chance, however, because by that time his boss had jumped into the back of the ambulance and was giving him a steely gaze.

"Just a graze on the arm," said Ned, checking Jimmy over.

Then he turned to Tad. "You shot the patient?"

"I didn't know bullets bounce so much."

"This isn't going to look good on your probationary report."

* * *

Jimmy fell into an overstuffed chair beside Ducky's hospital bed, his crutches clattering to the floor. He was stiff and sore but at least his head had stopped hurting.

"Elegantly done, Mr Palmer," said Ducky with only a hint of sarcasm.

Sitting up in his hospital bed, Ducky was looking frail yet focused. The worst was clearly over and yet Jimmy could not help but be reminded of the man's advancing age.

"I'm just glad to be alive," said Jimmy.

"Yes you certainly have had a baptism of fire, if you'll pardon the pun. Do you have your exam results yet?"

"Not yet."

"Well, I have," Ducky confided. "You passed with flying colors, my boy. Always pays to have friends on the board."

"Really!"

"You should have no problem running the place in my absence."

"When will you be back at work?"

"After all that's happened, Jordon and I thought we might do a wee bit of touring around the Highlands."

"Touring?"

"Yes, well my lecturing duties don't commence until university or rather college starts again. I think we have time for a little holiday. You know, I haven't had a decent holiday for as long as I can remember. What with mother and this job, there never seemed the time. For once in my life I feel like I've earned the right to a break."

"You're coming back, right?'

"That depends entirely on the quality of the fairways and the abundance of trout, Mr Palmer."

"But I'm not doing this all by myself," said Jimmy.

"You don't think after the past few days you could handle anything?"

"After the past few days, I need a break myself. These have been the worst few days of my life."

"What, just because you've been stalked by a crazed gunman, knocked out, broken your leg and shot by a paramedic?"

"Pretty much."

"Worse than doing exams?"

Jimmy paused to consider. "Nope," he finally conceded, "nothing is worse than exams."

* * *

THE END

* * *

_PS: My recent first aid course included a section on platypus stings. Yes I'm Australian but I have never met anyone who has seen a platypus in the wild._

* * *

P.P.S. Just wanted to clarify the ME stuff after Miss_Barbara asked on NFA.

According to US state laws, you must have a medical degree plus at least 4 years ME residency to become an ME. To become a medical examiner's assistant you must be a certified doctor (something Jimmy is not). In Probie, as Miss_Barbara rightly points out, Ducky states that you "don't need a degree to become a medical examiner." Actually, in the US you do, but not to be a coroner. I suspect the writers mixed that up. Of course where Ducky's from, according to wikipedia 'Scotland has no system of Coronial investigation.'

P.P.P.S. Breath easy everyone: Ducky didn't say that. According to the Probie transcript, he said coroner not ME:

ABBY: I think I'm ready for the next big step.  
DUCKY: And what's that?  
ABBY: Assisting in an autopsy.  
JIMMY: Oh, yeah, right!  
DUCKY: Actually, Mister Palmer, a medical degree is not required even to be a coroner.

That'll teach me not to check quotes.


End file.
